


The Morning After: A Later Conversation

by mirajanihiggins



Series: The Morning After [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arguing, Bottom John, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, sexually aggressive sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: John and Sherlock have survived the First Time, but the course of true love seldom runs smoothly.





	The Morning After: A Later Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a request for a sequel to The Morning After: a Brief Conversation.

A Later Conversation

 

John limped out of the bedroom hall, dragging his throbbing arse. It was late afternoon and he’d had nothing to eat all day, _including_ his usual restorative cup of coffee.

 

 _Sherlock_ had seen to that.

 

Muttering “randy bastard” under his breath, John had scuffed his way into the kitchen, searching for nutrition of _any_ sort. He pulled open the refrigerator and was treated to the newest selection of appetizing tidbits: a severed head, a ziplock bag full of fingers, a petrie dish full of something furry (he could have sworn it waved at him), and a loaf of bread.

 

“Great. A headcheese and ladyfinger sandwich with dressing. Thanks, Sherlock,” he mumbled as he reached in and snagged the remainder of some thai cuisine of dubious age. He took a deep sniff before flinching in disgust and binned the entire thing. Finally, he found some hidden lunchmeat in the crisper and decided on a mystery meat sandwich.

 

Standing at the counter, he carefully peeled off individual slices of grayish-pink meat and checked them for mold, when he heard a door creak open quietly and the sound of someone relieving himself in the hall loo.

 

His eyes rolled heavenward. _Please go back to sleep, please go back to sleep, please go…_

 

“John?” A deep, familiar, and still somewhat-groggy voice queried through the open bathroom door.

 

_God help me._ He flinched. He hadn’t felt this much trepidation about an engagement since his army days. _Maybe if I don’t answer…_

 

“JO-ohn...” the voice repeated, in a singsongy tone that made John’s teeth grit. _No, no, no..._ his eyes squinched shut involuntarily. _Go_ _back to bed_ _,_ _please God_ _…_

 

“I know you’re out there, John, so stop pretending you’re not.” The voice sounded a bit peeved this time.

 

John finally let out a deep, resigned sigh. “Yes, Sherlock, I’m here.”

 

There was shuffling in the hall that stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. “Well, you needn’t sound so _enthusiastic_ about it. Having regrets already?”

 

_Oh, God, I’ll bet he’s pouting. Don’t turn around, don’t look…_

 

“JOHN!”

 

He could _almost_ hear the mental foot stamp that accompanied that single syllable. Against his own better instincts, he turned.

 

Sure enough, Sherlock was standing there, hair mussed, hands on hips, pouting. It was adorable.

 

He was also completely starkers.

 

_Oh, shit._ “Sherlock, for God’s sake, go put some clothes on!” he admonished, as he attempted to turn his attention back to his lunchmeat. Unfortunately, he was now thinking a little too hard about  _another_ kind of meat…

 

“Why? God neither knows nor cares how I’m dressed. In fact, nakedness is our natural state. All else is artifice,” Sherlock responded, with the detached air of an academician with a partial erection.

 

John heard Sherlock coming closer, yet his footfalls stopped beside the table, a good arm’s length away from John.  _Why_ ?

 

“What are you doing?”Sherlock inquired, solicitously. “Are you hungry? You hadn’t mentioned you were hungry _before_...”

 

John spun around, mustard knife in hand. “Jesus, _why_ do you think I was making bacon and eggs this morning? To feed the local cat brigade out back?”

 

Sherlock looked down,  cool but meaningfully, at the knife in John’s hand, and said, “Really, John, I’m not that intimidating...”

 

John followed his gaze, then quickly stashed the knife on the counter behind him. “Sorry.”

 

“Hmph.” Skeptically. “You _could_ have said something.  We _would_ have stopped...”

 

“No, _I_ would have stopped. _You_ are a bloody force of nature!” John corrected him, heatedly. “I would have needed several lengths of rope and...”

 

Sherlock eyes lit up. “An excellent idea, John! I have read about the value of light bondage during sexual encounters! Once you have eaten...”

 

John pointed a determined finger at his flatmate and stated, “ _No_. After I eat, I’m going to get some rest.”

 

Sherlock smiled ingenuously. “I have a perfectly good bed for that...”

 

“No, _real_ rest. Like, sleep.”

 

“Sleep is...”

 

“Boring. I know. Right now, you have a new toy and you are bound and determined to play with it,” John groused, as he turned back to his sandwich. A quick movement and it was sitting on a plate, looking... _vaguely_ edible.

 

“I can make sure you are _extremely_ comfortable, John.”

 

Over his shoulder, John growled, “No. I can smell this trap a mile away.”

 

“John, I think I’ve been _extremely_ accommodating...” Sherlock said, somewhat aggrieved.

 

“Give it a rest, Sherlock. Give _me_ a rest,” he snapped, his arse suddenly throbbing again. “There are _other_ things we can do, you know.” When Sherlock’s face lit up, he added, “Later.” He turned back to pick up his plate.

 

The table legs skidded behind him. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Sherlock hop up to sit on the edge before lying down and tucking his heels under his bum. His hands assumed their usual steepled position below his chin.

 

“Sherlock!” John shouted angrily, his eyes taking in the entirety of Sherlock’s nakedness. _Damn him._ _Seductive little git._ “Get off the  bloody table!” 

 

“Why should I?” Sherlock retorted calmly. “This is as good a place as any to wait for you until you’ve finished your meal. It also serves to allow me to investigate it’s relative merits as a place for...”

 

John practically threw his plate onto the table in annoyance, where it landed next to Sherlock’s elbow. “At least, put something under your arse, then.”

 

As John sat down, Sherlock cracked open an eye and shifted it in John’s direction.  “It was clean enough for  _you_ just an hour ago  when you ...”

 

“Jesus! Why is _everything_ an argument with you?” John complained, as he took a bite out of his sandwich. His chewing slowed as he realized that the meat _might_ not have been quite as fresh as he had hoped it was. “Crap. This tastes like shite.”

 

“Does that mean you’re done eating, then?” Sherlock asked brightly. “There are still so many more scenarios...”

 

“No.”

 

Sherlock raised his head, his expression both cross and crestfallen. “No? Why not?”

 

John got up, threw the sandwich in the bin, and clattered the dish into the sink. “Because I’m tired, my bum hurts, and I’m not as young as I used to be!”

 

“Nonsense. Didn’t one of your girlfriends once call you a... _horndog_ , was it?” Sherlock asked, as he sat up on the edge of the table, his feet dangling like a child’s.

 

“Yeah, well, _I_ was the one in charge in those days.”

 

“John, such notions are archaic and have no place in a modern relationship. Now, come along,” he chirped as he slid off the table and reached for John. “You’ve had something to eat, so...”

 

“ _I_ _need to rest,_ _S_ _herlock!”_ John shouted.

 

Sherlock shrugged. “Fine. I’ll make sure you’re on the bottom, then,” he said, as he bent down, put his shoulder into John’s midsection and, after straightening up, bore the struggling doctor on his shoulder as he exited the kitchen. “Why are you making such a fuss? I thought you were enjoying this as much as I!”

 

They disappeared down the short hallway, John’s head hanging down above Sherlock’s bum. He was still struggling.”

 

“Sherlock! Put me the fuck down!”

 

“No. You’re just being cranky, John. Once you’ve lain down...John, let go of the door jamb. John… “ Aggrieved tone. “John, this is _not_ a game...let go of the... _LET_... _ **GO**_ …!” 

 

There was the sound of tumbling bodies, followed by someone kicking the door shut.

 

Lunch was missed in its entirety.


End file.
